<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>And Now She's Growing Old by PerpetuaLilium</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28564002">And Now She's Growing Old</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerpetuaLilium/pseuds/PerpetuaLilium'>PerpetuaLilium</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Code Name Verity Series - Elizabeth Wein, Fingersmith - Sarah Waters, Simoun (Anime), The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Lady of Shalott motifs in one drabble and a Townes Van Zandt song in another, Pining, Regret, Some whumpier than others, Whump, etc. etc.; lots of different flavors of moroseness here</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:27:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28564002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerpetuaLilium/pseuds/PerpetuaLilium</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of pointedly morose drabbles as a gift for a friend who wants more angsty F/F in her life. Multifandom, starts with the already-whumpy Code Name Verity and goes from there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Indis/Míriel Þerindë | Míriel Serindë, Julie Beaufort-Stuart/Maddie Brodatt, Mamiina/Rodoreamon (Simoun), Maud Lilly/Susan Trinder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Past Is a Foreign Country</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/gifts">ArvenaPeredhel</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a gift for a very dear friend of mine who likes women and angst and cathartic tragic ships.</p><p>Starting with CNV because it's an incredibly easy canon to do angst in, for reasons that should be obvious to anyone reading fic for it. The "present" of the story is around 1975. Maddie is going through it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moon had set, and the morning sky was empty. Maddie awakened in a hotel room, far from home, and looked at the radio that was blinking ten o' clock and playing a song about doing what you must, then growing old, alone. She was middle-aged, and half-widowed emotionally, and had few living relatives. In America, where she was on business, the protracted “Christmas season” had begun. It was December 1, regrettably; her schedule for today had nothing but time, and she had nothing to think about but the buried part of her soul an ocean and a generation away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ruminations at Midnight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Maud Lilly thinks of what she wishes she wanted, and of what she actually wants.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Continuing the whump parade with another very whumpy canon, although at least Fingersmith ends well for the two leads.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wakeful in a Lant Street midnight, I lay listening to squabbles nearby and, now and again, a distantly barking dog. I thought of my misery and my troubles; the undead trouble of opulence given way to the all-too-living trouble of the <em>mauvais pauvre</em>. I thought of Sue, and realised to my very great unhappiness that I still missed her; that I had every reason to hate her, yet did not; that I had every reason to fear and avoid ever again hearing anything from her, yet would be unable to. Musing listlessly on these troubles, I longed for my draught.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Mirrors and Shadows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Indis remembers Míriel, looking at the last tapestry she finished, and feels troubled by those memories.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've written Míriel/Indis in the past where Indis and Finwë bond over missing Míriel and end up in a marriage propped up by mutual lost-Lenore love for her, but I've left any mention of Finwë out of this drabble because I've gotten fed up with him as a character in the intervening years.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Þerindë had once told Indis that weaving was a way of making a "mirror of the world," a way of working a shadow into the imagery of the world, <em>a </em>shadow rather than <em>the </em>Shadow; indeed, shadows could help ward off the Shadow, if they said the right things about the world, if they said true things about real life. Now, standing in the halls of Tirion looking at the last tapestry that Þerindë had finished before decamping for the Gardens, Indis felt it as a shadow on her heart, and appreciated it less than she wished that she could.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Time Bomb</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rodoreamon finally lets it sink in that Mamiina is gone.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There was a time when I was very deeply invested in Simoun and its characters, but this is my first time writing for it in years.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took almost a year after she had gone to the Spring for Rodoreamon to fully realize, <em>really</em> realize, deep down inside her, that Mamiina was gone. Yet not gone—she was still there beneath the shadow of Tempus Spatium’s wings, imbuing time and space with her presence, a presence that was itself almost sanctified or, perhaps, martyred. Even so, she had left Rodoreamon here, had left her for, likely, years of mourning or longer; that loss was like a time bomb that was just now going off within Rodoreamon’s heart, and she would have to live with the shrapnel.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>